


Rotkäppchen

by ianthewaiting



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Post Hogwarts AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 08:19:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12979971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianthewaiting/pseuds/ianthewaiting
Summary: ‘Come closer and see, see into the trees, find the girl, if you can.’  -‘A Forest’ by The CureBased on a series of drabbles, a retelling of 'Red Riding Hood'. AU.





	1. #1 - Forest

**Author's Note:**

> This set of drabbles is based off of ‘Little Red Riding Hood,’ you can read the fairy story here: http://www.tonightsbedtimestory.com/little-red-riding-hood/ Puzzlewood is part of the Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire. Puzzlewood is an ancient woodland, covering approximately 14 acres, and is said to be an inspiration to Tolkein in ‘Fangorn Forest,’ and ‘Mirkwood,’ in ‘Lord of the Rings.’ For more info on Puzzlewood, and pictures, go here: http://www.puzzlewood.net/

1 - Forest

* * *

 

Tangles of root and rock hampered her way, and the moonlight overhead barely penetrated the canopy of leaves and branches.  Hermione dare not light her wand, lest she draw unwanted attention, but she ached to do so as she stumbled and fell to the mossy ground.  Lying on the ground for a long while, she sighed.  It was a mistake to camp in Puzzlewood in the Forest of Dean, and it was a bigger mistake to be out under a full moon when there were dark creatures roaming about.

 

There was a dark underside to the popular wood, one kept from ignorant Muggles, one that Hermione Granger found herself inside without a clue as how to leave it.  The goal was the cottage on the outskirts of Coleford where she would spend a sorely needed holiday.  Rolling to climb to her feet, Hermione could feel her shrunken bag in the pocket of her deep crimson cloak. 

 

She began walking again, her eyes narrowed to search for the path to the cottage, one that she had lost sight of several minutes before.  Part of Hermione wanted to curse her insistence on taking the path through Puzzlewood so late in the day.  The cottage was magical, warded, Unplottable, and absolutely private—it was just what Hermione had wanted.  When she rented the cottage from the grandmother of a co-worker, she was warned of the dangers of the forest.  Hermione did not think much of the warnings; she was a capable witch, fit, sharp, and a war hero.  She had fought Death Eaters and other fell beasts, she felt she could handle anything that would somehow mean her harm.

 

Walking through patches of moonlight, Hermione realised, once again, she was far too arrogant for her own good.  The moon was almost full, and it was widely known that the Forest of Dean was one territory that was ruled by werewolves.  Of course, Hermione knew how to defend herself from werewolves, but ever since Third Year and the realisation that Remus Lupin was a werewolf, Hermione had become exceedingly wary of such creatures.  Moreover, there were werewolves who refused any treatment via Wolfsbane Potion, and preferred to let their affliction take over completely during their ‘moon time.’

 

The Ministry had lost track of how many werewolves there were in Britain after the War, and it was estimated that the ‘packs’ numbered in the dozens, with dozens more to each ‘pack.’  Fenrir Greyback was still at large, though rarely sighted.  There was a rumour that a new ‘alpha’ had risen through the packs, an unknown werewolf that was a wizard and a werewolf whereas Greyback was only a lycanthrope.

 

Hermione’s thoughts were clinical, but it calmed her frustrations as her boots found the silvery path running between the gnarled trees once again.  With her hands at her sides under her dark crimson cloak, she let her fingers brush her wand handle in the holster upon her belt.  She would keep herself safe, werewolves or no.  

 

Thoughts of how she wanted to spent her holiday filled her mind as she emerged from the tress of Puzzlewood, a moonlit field stretched from the shadowy dark to a the thatched roof of the cottage near the river.  Hermione paused on the old path in the middle of the field, and inhaled deeply, smelling the forest, the river, and the fresh smell of cut hay in the fields across the river.  With one last glance to Puzzlewood, Hermione smirked.  She would tackle the ‘puzzle’ in the light of day, Hermione told herself.  Her boots began to move again, along the path. 

 

However, in the shadow of wood and stone, eyes watched her without her notice.

 

The eyes followed Hermione until she was well out of sight and in the safety of the cottage by the river.  There was a distant sound, a howl, and the eyes blinked, moving away from the cottage where lights were lit from the inside.  The eyes could see the warm golden light, and again, there was another howl, closer.

 

The eyes narrowed, and a low growl sounded from the mouth below the luminous brown eyes.  The shadow of Puzzlewood kept the eyes, the mouth, and the man, hidden.  The moon was not yet full, but it would be soon, and the man, whose growl grew louder at the proximity of a wolf’s bark, turned his eyes from the cottage and disappeared into the darkness.


	2. #2 - Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #2 – Sweet. ‘Come closer and see, see into the dark…’

#2 – Sweet

* * *

 

There were some mysteries in the world that no creature, let alone man, could understand.  One such example was death.  All things died, and when they did, what became of the energy that made them live?

 

Remus Lupin was alive, and as far as his lingering human brain would allow, he knew that when Anton Dolohov killed him at the Battle of Hogwarts, the Death Eater had slain a man.  Of course, Remus Lupin was much more than a man, and so when the wolf realised it was still alive, it dug up through grave dirt and took a deep breath of moonlit air.

 

The air was sweet, the cemetery grass under his paws was soft, and the moon that reflected in his luminous brown eyes was bright.  In the nighttime air, he was not sure why he had been in the ground, and as he looked about, he saw only stones with scratches in the surface.  The wolf could not read, could not remember, but was hungry, dirty, and free.

 

Sweet realisation came later, when the moon was gone, and he was in man form again, lost deep in a forest with strange trees.  Other humans could not see him well, but there were others like him in the forest that took him into their pack.  He was a young pup compared to most that had lived to see hundreds of moons.  The pack placed him at the bottom, and he fought everyday to live.  He was the ‘omega,’ the weakest, the one who had lost the most of them all.  He was a ‘blood wolf,’ turned as a child, and not born like his pack, and because of that, Remus had to fight.

 

He remembered how to walk like a man, how to speak like a man, how to move like a man when it suited him.  The pack knew him when he was still just a man, and some feared him still.  He could use man’s magic; he could trick men to get what the pack wanted.  Most of the pack was too wary of the villages, but he, Remus Lupin, walked and laughed like a man.  This interaction made Remus begin to remember.

 

Remus remembered a mate who was lost, and a pup, that was far away.  He did not really care much about the life he had had as a man, clinging so tightly to humanity.  The man was dead, and the wolf was alive.

 

Many years passed while he lived, abandoning his humanity and he found pleasure in climbing his way to the top.  Sweet, unadulterated power was what he wanted, and he got it.  Remus was the master, the ‘alpha,’ of Puzzlewood, a place of great magic and power.

 

It was into his third year as alpha, mate-less, and often challenged, that a crimson-cloaked female came into the wood.  She was different from the other humans, for she walked the ancient pathways known only to the pack after they drove out the Wizards centuries ago.

 

She smelled familiar, but Remus had purged most of his human memories.  He knew she was a witch, a powerful witch, a young witch.  She smelled delicious, sweet, and his pack stalked her as she walked through the maze of trees and rocks, licking their lips.

 

Remus wondered if she would taste as sweet as she smelled.

 

It had been a long time since the pack had had the sweet taste of magical human flesh, and the memory was engrained into their bestial minds.  However, Remus was not about to have his pack attack the witch.  His pack was dwindling in size, Wizards killing them slowly through the years.  Pups were few, and many died while so young.  A powerful witch could be turned, could bear a strong pup.

 

Logic, it was a faculty Remus had retained, and logically, a powerful mate could bring prestige to the pack, more than legend could.

 

He hounded her steps as she found her way through the forest again, and sent warnings to his pack to back away.  Remus would have the witch for himself, and when he marked her, he would taste her sweet blood in the marking of his bitch.

 


	3. #3 - Follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #3 – Follow. ‘Just follow with your eyes…’

#3 - Follow

* * *

 

Every thing with eyes followed her.  She was hard to miss in her dark crimson cloak, her long curly chestnut hair, and bright amber eyes.  In the late summer sun, she glowed.  The dapple light under the changing leaves cast Puzzlewood in a golden red light and Remus found it fitting somehow.

 

The day was cool, and bright, and as she walked along the ancient path deeper into the forest, he followed her without her notice.

 

Humans were so oblivious to much that happened in nature; even magical humans missed the subtle things that were obvious to a creature like him.  She was unaware that the forest was watching her.  With the pack so near and other fell beasts, the forest was waiting for the device of the woman’s demise.  However, Remus kept close, following his ultimate prey, and protecting his prey from other predators.

 

Puzzlewood did not only shelter werewolves…

 

She carried a bag over her shoulder, and hummed softly as she walked along the path.  Occasionally she would stop and look up into the twisted trees, smiling into the light.

 

He knew her face, a snatch of a memory half lost, half remembered.  Remus knew that the last time he had seen her face she had been much younger.  Maturity had taken away the fullness of her face, she was taller, leaner, and filled out in the appropriate places.

 

Sniffing the air, he could smell food.  She settled before a great oak, the roots clutching an ancient boulder.  It was atop the flat of the boulder that she set the bag down and began pulling out what he remembered to be a ‘picnic lunch.’

 

There was something in the back of his wolfish mind that told him that she, despite her maturity, was still quite naïve.  His eyes followed her every move as she sat down on the boulder and began eating human food.  The expression on her face was one of contented peace and innocent wonder at the sights of the forest.

 

Remus had little time to contemplate the ancient beauty of the forest, but as he watched her, he _could_ appreciate the woman’s natural beauty.  Besides the naïveté, the wonderment in her face, the curves of her body under the crimson cloak, she radiated power.

 

He wanted her.

 

Luck had brought such a human to his territory, coincidence, perhaps, but he was not going to question it.  The time was right for him to take a mate.  His blood demanded it.  As much as he knew she would taste simply divine, this woman was made for another purpose.

 

Following her through the forest, he only had to warn away a curious Thestral near the brook.  He was the strongest creature of the forest, and all that lived within it would stay away from his quarry.  Granted, there were lesser fell beasts that would try for the woman out of instinct and stupidity, but they were nothing compared to his prowess.  He would make sure she stayed away from the pack and the caves where they lived.  He would protect her until he felt the time was right for him to act. 

 

He would follow her to the very door of her cottage by the river, if he needed to.  He would seduce her, like a man, and mate her like a man, but he would mark her as a wolf would mark a bitch.  In every way, he would follow her, hound her steps, and take her as his own.

 

He would tear into her skin, taste her blood, and taste her sweat.  Even as he followed her back toward the edge of the forest, it was becoming hard for him to walk, his cock so hard in his grimy human trousers.  His very nature wanted to run to her, tackle her to the ground, rip off her bloody cloak, and fuck her.

 

Grinding his teeth, he leaned into the trunk of a tree, his clawed hand brushing against the placket of his trousers.  Remus groaned in his rarely used human voice.

 

The time was not right, not yet.  A part of him remembered she was willful.  He would make her feel as if she were safe in the forest, and then show her who was master.


	4. #4 – Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #4 – Door. ‘I love it all, these games we play, I close my eyes, you run away.’ ‘The Upstairs Room’ by The Cure.

#4 – Door

* * *

 

A scratching sound at the door woke her from a light sleep.  Hermione had bathed and dressed in a soft shift for bed, the evening was cold, but Hermione buried deeper into the quilts upon the cottage’s bed. 

 

At first, she thought she was dreaming the noise, as she often dreamt so close to the edge of true sleep.  However, the scratching continued, reminding her of the sound Crookshanks’ claws made on her bedroom door in her London flat.  Crookshanks was with Harry at Grimmauld place during her holiday, and she idly wondered if Harry remembered to feed the half-kneazle.

 

The scratching became more insistent and Hermione opened her eyes.  Moonlight streamed in through the windows, and she could easily see the small cottage interior.  She rose slowly, still quite sleepy and let the ankle length shift swirl about the tops of her feet.  The stone floor was cool, but it was not enough to make Hermione wake further than her bleary eyed lumbering across the cottage.

 

As she neared the wide oak door, the scratching stopped.  Hermione yawned and reached for the handle, pulling the heavy door open just a crack.

 

There was nothing.

 

The moon was high overhead, a day away from being full, and its light made the river below the cottage appear like a silver ribbon in a dark landscape.  Hermione opened the door wider, her eyes moving to the sky, and the full canvas of stars against a Prussian blue sky.

 

Stepping out onto the stone threshold and step, Hermione woke more fully as she took in the stars.  She had almost forgotten how vast and how beautiful an early autumn sky could be.  In London, stars were rare.

 

In that moment, Hermione was glad she had taken a holiday.

 

The night was cool, and as a fragrant wind blew from the forest to the east, Hermione could smell leaves, moss, and magic.  Inhaling deeply, she felt sleep return to her; a night breeze bade her to return to bed.

 

However, a noise came that made Hermione pause as she started to turn into the cottage.  It was a strange sound, one that she would not hear in London.  A fox barked in the distance, the sound akin to a person screaming.  The noise was distant, toward the west, in the fields.  Another sound found her ears, this time nearer, and not a fox.

 

A howl came from the forest, a sound that made her insides seem to jerk instinctually.  She bit her lower lip, knowing that her wand was in the cottage.  The distant sound was not dangerous, and Hermione knew that her solitude at the cottage had made her jumpy.  Living in a city of millions and suddenly deciding for a holiday where the nearest village was miles off, was a definite change. 

 

Finally, Hermione shifted on her feet, her soles numb from the cold stone, and turned to the door.  In the moonlight, she could see the scratches in the wood, claw marks too high to be a cat’s or a fox.  The scratched reached higher than the door handle, and were deep into the grain, fresh and new. 

 

A snuffling noise had Hermione turning again toward the river, finally hearing the course of the waterway once she regarded it fully.  Narrowing her eyes, she could see the source of the noise and possibly the source of the claw marks on the door. 

 

The edge of the river was perhaps a hundred meters or more from the level of the yard before the cottage and down a slope.  There was a small jetty off a path to the river, and there, sitting on the bank before the jetty was a shape.  Despite the brightness of the moonlight, Hermione could only see a strangely indistinct shape of a large animal.

 

Of course, she was aware that Puzzlewood had magical creatures—Thestrals, certainly.  This creature was not as large as a Thestral, but not small enough to be a domesticated dog or wild fox.  Glancing to the moon, Hermione’s hands itched for her wand.

 

Werewolves, from what she had read in her research, could turn fully into a wolf several days before and after the full moon…

 

Eyes flashed in the moonlight and Hermione stiffened. 

 

A yip sounded, and from the forest, Hermione could hear barks of other wolves, and then howls. 

 

The wolf’s eyes were a dark colour, like chocolate, but she could not see anything more of the beast than its eyes.  The colour of its fur was lost in the moonlight, and as it rose to its paws, Hermione was certain that its front shoulders would rise past her hip.

 

A dire wolf…

 

It had been the wolf that had scratched at the door, leaving the marks, and as Hermione backed into the cottage, she wondered why it had not simply broken through the door to get to her. 

 

Perhaps it was a warning.  Perhaps it was a promise…

 

She shut the door slowly, trying not to make a noise, and as soon as the outside was shut away, Hermione launched herself to the bedside table and clutched her wand.


	5. #5 – Almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #5 – Almost. ‘Tonight I'm feeling like an animal, tonight I'm howling inside, tonight I'm feeling like an animal, tonight I'm going wild.’ ‘All I Want’ by The Cure.

#5 – Almost

* * *

 

Remus knew the woman was ignorant of how close she had come to moral peril.  He also knew, by way of realisation, that he was far too restless.  He had almost acted too soon, too rashly.  The wolf had almost taken her, eaten her.

 

The last time he had been so rash was when a human strayed too close to his territory, a human girl, perhaps only ten years old.  With his pack with him, he remembered snapping the girl’s neck between his jaws, and savouring the taste of innocent blood.

 

His humanity had died, but still there had been a small compulsion to show the girl back to the path and save her life.  However, the compulsion had flitted through him like gust through the trees and was gone.  Remus remembered what morality was, conscience, it was something his human self had been far too keen to keep.  What morality he had now dealt only with the politics of the pack.  What conscience he had was used to keep the peace in the pack, and mete out judgment.

 

The woman, whose name, he could not quite remember, had tempted him sorely.  Eat or fuck, it was growing harder for him to choose so close to the full moon.

 

By distancing himself from her, watching her pale body in the moonlight, he made his resolution.

 

She was like pale gold in the moonlight, her face pointed to the stars in a posture that he adopted every night under the trees of the forest.  In the moonlight, she was like a sparkling idol, and Remus was willing to lay his belly on the cold ground in worship.  He could smell her above the dank river near the cottage; he could smell her soap on her skin and under that, he could smell _her_.

 

The breeze had made her shift ripple, and from between her thighs, a scent came that had made him yip in anticipation.  A strong scent of magic, fertility, femininity, and power…  It was an exotic musk, one that made him pant loudly, and one that was noticed by his pack waiting in the forest.

 

He had made his intentions clear, and by the raucous barking of those in the forest, they could see why Remus had chosen this human.

 

He almost wanted to make himself known to her that moment.  He had only meant to mark her door, her shelter, as his territory.  It was unprecedented, he knew, to mark a human’s shelter, but he did it as a form of security.  There were other packs that roamed along the river, packs that could be hostile.  Now, no pack or wolf could deny his territory.  He had scented the yard, the door, though the human woman would never sense it. 

 

All that remained was marking the woman herself.

 

Remus was so close to her that he almost wished he could will himself into human form that night, but he was stuck until the first rays of dawn touched him.  Even then, he wondered if he could hold himself back.

 

The urge to have her was painful.  A part of him wanted to forget he was the wolf and take her in the human shelter, mount her and change her.  Padding away from the riverside, he licked his jaws as he passed into the fields toward the forest.  He paused to look back to the dark cottage, and sat in the high grass to gaze at the moon overhead.  With a snort, he knew that there was something too perverse in taking a human in wolf form. 

 

In human form, however, he knew exactly how to make her _enjoy_ what he wanted to do to her.  It would be wonderful, he thought, if she would enjoy it…

 

There were plans to be set into motion at dawn, and he almost wished he could make the earth turn faster.


	6. #6 – Predator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #6 – Predator. ‘Nothing ever gets in my way, nothing ever gets on my mind, nothing ever makes me stop to think about, nothing of the kind.’ ‘Harold and Joe’ by The Cure

 #6 – Predator

* * *

 

Hermione had dozed off, a copy of Carl Sagan’s ‘Cosmos’ over her face.  She had trekked into Puzzlewood again with a picnic lunch and book.  For once, she could read for pleasure, and the prospect of enjoying the autumn leaves, a turkey sandwich, some tea, and biscuits while reading under a majestic tree, thrilled her.

 

Of course, the night before had shaken her resolve to stay at the cottage, but the more she thought about the shape she had seen by the jetty, the more she thought it a dream.  The scratches on the door were gone when she left the cottage…

 

Hermione knew she had to be cautious, and as she lay back on her crimson cloak as leaves fell upon the book over her face, she kept her hand on the handle of her wand.  She was not far into the forest, and at times, she could hear Muggle voices, tourists walking along the marked paths of Puzzlewood.

 

Dozing, Hermione edged back and forth across the formative stages of dreaming.  So comfortable wrapped in her cloak, Hermione was vaguely aware of the passage of time.  When she moved the book away, stretched, the sky through the thick red leaves had changed, and the clouds that drifted past were tinged red from a late day sun.

 

‘Holiday’ meant not getting anything done, relaxing, Hermione knew, but still, she felt slightly guilty that she had dozed for a long while in the embrace of the forest.  Tucking her book into her cloak and fastening the metal clasp of the garment before her throat, Hermione shivered as the first cool breeze of late day drifted through the trees and around her.  Lifting the cowl of the crimson cloak over her unruly hair, she sighed.  She was hungry and she mentally made a checklist of the supplies she had brought with her. 

 

Walking through the tangle of trees, it did not take long for Hermione to realise that the falling leaves had obscured her path.  It was not just that, she felt, the landmarks were slightly different.  The tangled oaks had shifted somehow, as if danced about while she dozed.

 

Drawing her wand, she used a directional spell, finding west easily, the direction of the cottage.  However, finding a path west would take time, the terrain at times rugged without the aid of a path…

 

Hermione slipped her wand away and sighed as clouds began to gather, obscuring the direct sunlight in the western sky.  Apparation, she had been told before renting the cottage, was a tricky matter in Puzzlewood.  There was something in the earth under Puzzlewood that did not take well to Apparation and some types of spell craft.  It was speculated it had to do with the minerals in the ground, the rock that conducted natural magical energy, but Hermione was at a loss as how to explain it.  She had been told to not try and Apparate in the confines of the forest.

 

She wondered if the prospect of a holiday had somehow numbed her brain.

 

Hermione lifted her chin in self-defiance, and began walking west as directly as she could.  Losing track of time, Hermione could not judge the hour for the gathering rain clouds overhead.  It was as she was glancing up through the branches that her boot caught a root and she tumbled down a slope to the edge of brook she had not known existed.  Her cloak was tangled around her waist, and as she huffed and groaned, uninjured, but definitely aggravated, a sound of soft laughter caught her attention.

 

Crouching on the other side of the brook was man, and as Hermione stilled at the sound of his raspy laughter, the man rose to full height.  From under the edge of her cowl, Hermione narrowed her eyes at the man who was dressed in rags, it appeared.  His hair was wild and long with streaks of grey in a mousy brown.  He was dirty, barefoot, and scarred.

 

There was something so familiar about the eyes that Hermione shuddered.

 

“Lost, little one?”

 

The voice was even more familiar to Hermione, but the man she associated with the voice was long dead—a decade gone.  However, the resemblance was striking.

 

Hermione managed to rise to her feet, letting her cloak swirl about her body.

 

“Perhaps,” was all she answered waryily.

 

The man had a kind face, though scarred and grubby, but as he reached out a long fingered hand to her as she neared the brook, Hermione hesitated.  The fingernails were not nails at all, but claws, and were blackened with dirt. 

 

As if noticing her hesitation, the man smiled, and Hermione took his hand as he helped her to jump across the brook.  The man looked so much, seemed so much like…

 

“Which path were you taking?”

 

Hermione slipped her hand from his, and continued west while he followed.  She knew he could not simply be a man, he was a wizard, and though she did not see a wand, she could feel his power in his touch.  It was more than that however, and as she told the man that she had rented the cottage by the river, she wanted to clap a hand over her mouth.

 

“Let me take you, little one.  Night is near, and there are dangerous things in this wood for little ones like you…”

 

He walked beside her, towering over her, and Hermione was not sure why she felt relatively safe with the stranger, or why she felt as if there were eyes watching her from the depths of the forest.

 

There was something so strange about the man and how she felt about him, and as they walked, she began to ask questions.  His answers were smooth and natural.  He lived nearby, he was a wizard, and he liked his privacy.  However, he was not unsympathetic to those tricked by Puzzlewood, thus his free assistance.

 

Hermione kept her hand under her cloak to touch her wand handle.  Despite the man’s well-spoken manner, his light smiles, Hermione knew this man was not simply what he appeared to be.  If anything, he was a predator, but of what prey, Hermione had yet to discern.

 


	7. #7 – Lick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #7 – Lick. ‘She waits all night to feel his kiss, but always wakes alone.’ ‘Apart’ by The Cure.

#7 – Lick

* * *

 

“I shall leave you here.”

 

Hermione could just see the fields and the river beyond the shelter of the trees.  It had rained, but on the far western horizon, she could see the setting sun under the blanket of clouds.

 

“This path runs along the edge of the forest to the path to the cottage.  It dips into the wood for a ways, but have no fears, it will bring you where you need to be.”

 

Hermione turned to the man, and looking up into his face, shivered again.  He looked much like her old mentor and friend, one who had died too soon.  There were differences, of course.  The man was not nearly as thin as her old friend; the man was more substantial, power in his frame.  Age wise, Hermione only knew that the man was older than she by the silver in his tangled hair, but his face, despite the scars, was ageless.

 

“Thank you, Mr…”

 

“I would rather not say, little one.  I would rather keep myself anonymous, but if we were to cross paths again, you may call me Mr. Vilkas, it is one of many aliases I use.”

 

He smiled, wider than before, and for the first time Hermione saw his perfect, white teeth.  There was something wild about the smile that reached his eyes and made the brown orbs glimmer in a ray of bloody sunlight.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Vilkas, I will be on my way…”

 

His hand grasped hers suddenly, and Hermione stifled a gasp as he bent over her hand and gently kissed the backside of her palm.  The contact sent strange pulses through her body, aimed at her womb, and when her eyes grew heavy, it did not matter than his long tongue swiped at her knuckles.

 

Hermione did not know who this man was, or how he had appeared to her, or why he was assisting her, but she did know that something was amiss about the entire situation.  The forest had addled her, made her inhibition and caution weak.

 

He tasted the skin of her right hand, and Hermione did not want him to stop.  It was the hand she wrote with, the hand she ate with, cast with, and the hand that could curl up into a small fist and deliver terrible blows if need be.  It was also the hand that would slip past the waistband of her knickers and the fingertips that would caress her flesh.

 

When his mouth moved away, Hermione blinked.  Her hand was dry, but the skin was pulsing.

 

“Thank you, sir.  Goodbye.”

 

She had awoken from a dream, and remembering she needed to return to the safety of the cottage, Hermione turned on the path and began to walk quickly away.  She could feel his eyes upon her back, and when the trees obscured her, Hermione began to run.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Remus grinned.  The girl was so innocent despite what he could discern from the taste of her skin and the smell of her blood.  She was not a virgin, but it did not matter.  She was a fighter and so much the better for him…  She tasted like everything good and right in the world, but on her fingers, under the bitterness of human soap, he tasted her.

 

Oh, she was not so innocent as not to know how to pleasure herself, and that thought had him racing along a different path from hers, yet parallel.

 

He would make it to the cottage before she did, as he knew every path in the forest.  Before she had risen that morning, he had repaired the scratches on the door, and followed her every movement in the forest.  As she slept, he Charmed the forest to move, the leaves to fall, and confounded her path to safety.  It was not only humans that could lay traps.

 

He was a cunning wolf, far more cunning than a human could wish to be.  He would take her in her sanctuary before the moon rose.  And when he subdued her, he would drag her into the moonlight and make her his forever.

 

He was already hard with the thought of it.


	8. #8 – Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #8 – Wild. ‘Tonight I'm screaming like an animal, tonight I'm losing control, tonight I'm screaming like an animal, tonight oh I'm getting so low.’ ‘All I Want,’ Verse 2 by The Cure.

#8 – Wild

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He had been waiting for her, and in quick succession, Hermione realised several terrible truths.

 

“What is your name?” he asked as he backed her into a corner of the cottage.

 

There were others outside; she could hear them moving in the yard, speaking to each other in harsh, low, and anxious whispers.  Even if she could somehow manage to escape the werewolf in the cottage, there were a dozen more waiting outside.  With her wand, and her adrenaline fueling her, it would not be enough.

 

As her hand moved to draw her wand, he moved, claws snatching at the wood and breaking it in a dirty palm like a straw. 

 

“Your name?” he asked again, rougher.

 

He was aroused; Hermione could see it evidently through his thin and ragged trousers. 

 

“Hermione…” she whispered, trying to rein her fear.

 

He cocked his head, and for a moment, there was a spark of recognition.  It was lost however as he stepped closer, his body straightening, his lightly bearded jaw lifting.  He appeared more like a man than a wolf.

 

“Hermione.  ‘mione.  Mine.  Do you know what is going to happen now?” he asked coolly, peering down his long nose at her with hot eyes.

 

The resemblance was too much, and Hermione dropped her eyes to the cottage floor.  Remus Lupin was dead, yet he stood before her in the darkening cottage.

 

“You will kill me…” she answered.

 

He barked a laugh.  “Far from it.”

 

Hermione began to tremble, and when he grasped her upper arms, she began to scream.

 

The laughter from the outside penetrated the cottage as her crimson cloak was ripped away.  She tried to run, but clawed fingers grasped her hair and pulled her back.  Claws tore and ripped at her clothing, scratching into the skin underneath.

 

The moon was beginning to rise on the horizon, but the light had yet to stream through the windows.  Hermione’s voice was ragged as the last of her clothing was torn away and her head was pressed into the hook rug before the fire, her cheek surely to bear the imprint of the weave.

 

On her knees, she tried to push up with her hands, but the weight of a naked body kept her pinned in place.  She could feel the hair on his body; smell the forest from his skin.  He seemed so large over her, his left hand pressing on the side of her head to keep her down.

 

Hermione thought she begged through her tears, but he made no sound of acknowledgement.  Even when she screamed his name as a clawed finger wiped at the wounds on her back to collect blood, he said nothing.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him behind her, on his haunches, licking his bloody fingers.  Muscles rippled under pale, scarred skin, and from his pelvis, his cock twitched and swelled.

 

“Fire…” he mumbled, and as his word the fireplace next to her lit, and she could see him fully in the light.

 

His shaggy hair was wild about his face, his eyes glowing, and his body taut for action.  He would rape her, and possibly devour her.  He was not simply a werewolf, but a wizard who had mastery over wandless magic, elemental magic.  Hermione was wandless, and with his strength, she doubted she would be able to fight to much affect.  But she _would_ fight, if it meant somehow saving herself.

 

He licked the length of her spine, blood beginning to congeal where it had flowed previous.  His lips smacked sensually, and his hand pulled away from her head so she could look back at him.

 

Her eyes found his, but there was only wild lust in those chocolate orbs, and nothing more.

 

“Mine.”

 

Hermione began to scramble on her hands and knees toward the small kitchen area.  She had brought a silver knife; on the off chance that she would find some potion ingredients in the forest…  She could defend herself with—

 

His claws dug into her hips, dragging her back, skinning her knees on the stone floor and the rug. 

 

“Mine,” he repeated, his voice husky.

 

The tip of his cock jutted into her pelvis and with a scream that deafened her and the wolf behind her, she felt the last of her resistance crumble.

 

The wild wolf that held her fast was not going to let her go.  The tearing sensation that made her gag kept his wild lust still for a moment.  A gentle hand moved from her bleeding hip to caress her exposed cheek, the tip of a claw catching a tear.

 

“Mine…” he whispered triumphantly.

 


	9. #9 – Tame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #9 – Tame. ‘Suddenly I stop, but I know it's too late, I'm lost in a forest, all alone.’ ‘A Forest’ by The Cure.

#9 – Tame

* * *

 

 

Remus would tame the willful woman.  She had scratched at his face, drawn his blood with her dull teeth.  The sting of her mouth on his chest delighted him, the circular mark oozing dark, fresh blood down his body.  She had kicked at him, dislodging his cock from her body.  She had jumped on him and punched his face and the bite on his chest.  She had tried to escape to search for something to hurt him further, but in truth, her blows did not hurt him at all and already the bites and scratches were fading.

 

He expected her exhaustion and fear, and when he threw her body into the footboard of the human bed, her hands catching herself from bashing her head into the wood, he knew the fight was almost gone.

 

No alpha wanted a totally obedient bitch; an alpha wanted a mate with enough fight to protect her pups and the pack.  He would tame her just enough so she would burn for his attentions.

 

Bending her body over the footboard, he slammed his hips into her buttocks.  She let out a soft scream, her voice reflecting her weakening will.  He leaned over her back, licking the blood, and sweat from between her shoulder blades, growling in satisfaction at her taste.

 

Kicking her ankles apart, he grasped his weeping cock and growled a pitch lower, sinking in slower, relishing the gripping heat of her body.  Her spine bowed, her hands gripped at the quilts on the bed, and she hissed.  Remus grinned at how wet she was, the struggle, the fight, making her ready for him.

 

The first thrust was brutal, the next more so, and Remus held her waist to keep himself deep inside.  He had the urge to howl, so enraptured by how warm she was, how tight, how wild yet.  He wondered what other male had had her, and jealousy surged through him.  No male would _ever_ touch her again.

 

His clawed hands ran along her ribs to grasp at her full breasts, swaying with his thrusts, and trapped suddenly and held in large hands.  She made a whimpering sound.  She was his.

 

Remus moved with her, not daring to pull out, and placed her on the rug again.  With his filthy bare feet planted on either side of her knees, he pushed her head to the floor, penetrating deeper than before.

 

The resistant cries turned into something else, her scent changing.  Arousal.

 

He twisted her, finally chancing to slip out of her body until they were face to face.  He wanted to feel her in every way, slip inside every inch of her, prod at her womb that would be full with his offspring—not that night, but soon.  Her time was not yet right…

 

He kissed her like a human, feeling her legs wrap about his waist, and a distant memory surfaced and was gone again.  He remembered how he liked to hold a woman in his arms, bear over her, make her small against him, and feel something more than the animal lust that he knew now.

 

Love.  He did not know what it was, in truth.

 

Her eyes were like a beast’s, bright amber, swimming with tears.  He could see possibilities in those eyes as he stared down into them. 

 

She did not hold him in her arms, and it aggravated him for some odd reason.  Despite the fact her legs wrapped about his waist, urging him deeper, the soles of her feet digging into his muscular buttocks, urging him faster, the woman would not hold him.

 

Still wild, she was… 

 

Remus licked the tracks of tears on her flushed cheeks, tasted the inside of her mouth.  He tasted the blood on her neck from his scratches and nipped at her erect nipples.  All the while, he fucked her, took her, and brought her away from the life she had known.

 

He would tame her, and make her his own.

 

She could not resist forever.

 

Her hands touched him; at last, to grasp at his shoulders while her back arched and her head threw back.  A triumphant grin curled his lips as her voice rang out, bestially, as her climax crashed over her.

 

But he was not done, not yet, not any time soon.  He would test her stamina, her will, her power, before marking her.  He would lick at her cunt; he would violate her human sensibilities.  He would take his time in making her realise how much pleasure he could wring from their mating.  There would be time later, when she was his completely, tamed, to teach her how to pleasure him.

 


	10. #10 – Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #10 – Monster. ‘The girl was never there, it's always the same, I'm running towards nothing, again and again and again and again…’ ‘A Forest’ by The Cure.

#10 – Monster

* * *

 

 

Hermione’s crimson cloak fluttered behind her as she ran through the trees like a bloody banner.  The snow on the ground was barely disturbed under her booted feet, and she glided along the forest floor like a floating leaf.  Power surged through her body, and her keen eyes caught sight of the deer as it leapt over the brook to escape.  It would not.

 

Remus tackled the beast to the ground, as had been planned, and as Hermione came to a halt at his feet, his dirty hands grasped the deer’s head and snapped the slender neck like a twig.

 

Streams of heated breath came no more from the deer’s nostrils, but as Hermione knelt next to the deer, she could feel its body heat.

 

It was a full moon that night, and she remembered it would be her sixth since the night she had been bitten.  She watched as Remus grasped the deer’s neck, lifting it up with the strength impossible for a mere man. 

 

“Mine…” he whispered as he slung the deer over his shoulder.

 

Hermione sniffed the air icy air, smelling that the pack was close, waiting for their meal.

 

“Well done.”

 

She grinned, her fangs flashing in the muted light of a cloudy day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hermione knew what she was, and though as a girl the prospect of being ‘turned’ frightened her, she relished in the power of her affliction. 

 

Hermione Granger had become a monster.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Remus sniffed the air as morning came, his body returning to man shape.  She was near, having chased a rabbit out of sport a half mile away.  He could smell her human scent again, and knew that she would need her human clothes before the cold of winter hurt her furless body.

 

He found her crimson red cloak hanging from a low branch along the path.  He had transformed near to where he left his cloak in the hollow knot of a tree, and as he wrapped himself in it, he lifted her cloak to his nose to inhale her unique scent.  To him, she smelled like sunlight and wildflowers, an intoxicating scent.

 

She was curled up in a small cave, shivering as the snow-laden clouds began to brighten over the forest.  He dropped her cloak over her body, her long curly hair hiding her breasts, her lips tinged blue, and her preternatural amber eyes hooded with exhaustion.

 

He drew her back into the shallow cave where the wind could not reach and the snow had not blown onto the soft earth.  He pressed his back into the rock and let her fold into his open arms, pulling her against his chest.  Smelling her throat, he licked at her pulse point.  Her hip pressed into his pelvis, and immediately he felt his cock stiffen. 

 

Remus growled softly as she laid her ear over his heart, upon his bare chest.  He was too tired to go back to their pack and to the warmth of their cave over a mile away.  Moon time was the wolf’s strongest and weakest moments.  When they had rested sufficiently, they would rejoin the pack.

 

She sighed against him, so small that she was almost obscured by his tattered cloak.  Her clawed hand curled against his thigh, a delightful scratch tearing into his skin.  Remus growled deeper, his mate tempting him though she too was too exhausted from the change to do much more than sleep.

 

He wanted her.  He always wanted her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The ‘once upon a time’ part of Hermione’s story was over.  In her crimson cloak, she had lost her way in the forest, and was confronted by a wolf.  Little Red Riding Hood, she was not.  The wolf did not devour her and there was no woodsman to save her.

 

Little Red Riding Hood had become the Wolf’s mate.  There was a sexual awakening, of a sort, and Hermione let herself be taken along.  Lust, passion, domination, it was part of a wilder, repressed nature that had always existed in her.  With the repression gone, Hermione did not care about the strictures and rules of her old life.  She was free.


End file.
